


Kingdom of Welcome Addiction

by HurricanesatDawn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Gambling, M/M, Manipulation by use of leather trousers, Minor allusions to prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricanesatDawn/pseuds/HurricanesatDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Gambling</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sky remained a dismal grey, an almost incoherent mass of grey clouds converging upon each other to the point where they no longer retained their ability to be individual shapes. They seemed to threaten to form a distorted collection of rain clouds over the heads of the few people darting to and fro on the streets.

There was something on the faces of the few people down below, as they would occasionally glance up at the sky and frown, that seemed to inspire a feeling of dreariness that spread like a thick coat through the air.

The air was cold in the way that sets a chill down to the very bones of a man, where even a few thick layers of clothing can’t seem to ever be enough to halt the pervading intruder.

Even as Jim brings the cigarette up to his lips, taking a long draw of smoke into his lungs, it’s little help to calm the shivers threatening to take over his body.

He’s cold, especially so in the thin outfit that could hardly be called proper clothes, and waiting with a few shreds of impatience outside of a boarded up warehouse. He’s waiting, for the right moment, when he’ll go inside and put his current plan into action. It’s been timed perfectly, and not even the cold is enough to make the idea of rushing more than an idle thought passing through his head.

The door in front of which he’s standing has been shut for an hour, and his vigil has been by it for just under fifty minutes. No one has disturbed his peace for it, aside from the occasional crash of noise from inside.

Checking the light on his throwaway phone for the third time, he sends a jerky nod in the direction of the bum sleeping on the bench across the street and three buildings down, and turns slowly. The phone is slipped carefully into the back pocket of his already far too tight leather trousers, making him wiggle to get it into place as he walks.

He plasters an unsure yet defiantly determined look on his face, and opens the door.

The light inside is almost blinding for the first few seconds, flashing in his face before it seems to turn opaque, and he ignores it. Shivering consciously, he walks the rest of the way through, closing the door behind him. His eyes dart to one of the tables, at the far wall, and walks stiffly towards it.

His every step is careful, moving with just enough confidence to shout that he’s supposed to be here, which keeps the overt stares from the people around him to turn from anything more than curiousity and hunger. No one questions him, or gets in his way, feeling put off by how obvious it is that he’s not there for them.

Before he reaches the table, he stops, breathing in carefully, and tugging his shirt down in an attempt to make it cover his stomach. He shifts, his eyes wide in mock confidence, before clearing his throat. He already has the attention of half the eyes at the table, the ones facing him, but none of them carry any particular relevance right now. The only person for which this game is designed is sitting with his back towards Jim, in the seat directly in front of him.

He licks his lips, a salacious smirk filling his mouth. “Tommy?” he asks, a very faint quiver in his voice, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders to catch his attention.

The man doesn’t jump, having already sensed the presence behind him, but he snarls under his breath. It’s cut off short as he turns his head and catches sight of the intruder.

“J-” he starts, before catching himself, his eyes wide.

“Hi, baby,” Jim catches the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth. He moves forward now, forcibly crawling into the man’s lap, barely fitting in the space between his chest and the table. “I missed you, sexy,” he mumbles, loud enough for everyone listening to be able to hear clearly.

_“Did you miss me, Moran?”_ he continues, quieter against the ear, so that only Sebastian can hear him.

He doesn’t give Sebastian long enough to register the need for a response, before he pulls his face away, pressing his lips against the man’s for a wet, sloppy kiss. It’s one-sided, short, and not enough pressure on Sebastian’s end to be fulfilling. Almost like kissing a dead fish, which is more than to be expected.

“…what the fuck are you doing here?” Sebastian hisses once they’re parted, and he’s gathered himself. His voice is far from as quiet as Jim’s had been, and it makes him cast a furtive glance around the table.

There isn’t an eye not on them, some amused, some jealous, and some viciously indignant. No one says anything, seeming to not have the proper words for the situation.

It’s not the first time a hooker has come off the street to interrupt one of their card games, but it’s definitely the first time one has come for Sebastian. They’re also generally of the female variety.

“Aren’t ya happy ta see me, Tommy?” his accent slips further into desperation, his eyes watering with crocodile tears. It’s not so dramatic that it’ll pull attention, but it’s enough to be obvious. “I’m h-here ta see ya’ ‘cause I miss’d ya.” He reaches his hand up, petting the side of Sebastian’s face fondly. “Ya’ said tha’ I were yer’ lucky charm, an’ tha’ ya’d do better if I were here!”

Sebastian’s jaw clenches briefly before he forces the anger out of his body, smiling falsely back. He has no idea what his boss’ scheme is, and how it involves him, but he’s in no rush to earn himself a punishment by bollixing it up. “Of course,” his eyes are hard and unpleasant, and he can’t bring himself to meet Jim’s. “I hadn’t realised you’d…take that as an invitation to join me for a game.”

_‘Good boy,’ _ Jim’s eyes seem to say. They fill with childish triumph, and he turns, surveying the people staring at them as if surprised. He doesn’t say anything, just licks his lips and stares back as if flummoxed as to what he’s supposed to do.

He refuses to budge from Sebastian’s lap, even wiggling to get more comfortably, consequently directly over the man’s cock, which is already beginning to make its interest in the proceedings known. He doesn’t comment on it, except to bite his lip and stare into Sebastian’s eyes.

They’ve never actually shagged. That’s only in part due to Jim having never shown any sort of interest in having Sebastian warm his bed, therefore making it seem as if any advances would be shot down without any regard for comfort.

But that hasn’t stopped Sebastian from occasionally stealing a glance. There’s not much to see, apart from the perfect cut of his suit. Jim Moriarty almost never wears anything but an expensive, perfectly fitted suit; and if he does, Sebastian has certainly not been privy to such things.

That’s not to say that the man doesn’t look divine in his clothes of choice. To say that he’s not had a few idle fantasies about stripping the man out of his disgustingly expensive clothes, and fucking him raw. But that’s not the sort of thing people generally get to do to their boss’, so he’s never given much hope for it actually coming to be.

But his fantasies are coming back to haunt him now, as Jim’s perfect arse, clad in leather, and probably nothing else. From the lack of lines, it’s clear that any sort of knickers would be difficult to fit underneath. Even counting the type that Sebastian was forced to take down to the dry cleaners once when the usual man for that had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. 

He doesn’t actually believe that anything will come from the teasing hand now across his cock, knuckles pressing against him, but it’s not like he can tell his body that and make him listen.

Though he’s often suspected that his boss knew about the attraction he has towards him, Jim has never made it obvious, or even tried to torment him over it. It had left him assuming that the man had never considered it to be anything worthy of interest. Either Jim didn’t care, or he was planning to use it in his endgame against Sebastian.

If this is his end, then tonight makes more sense. But he can’t be sure, and he knows that while he’s in trouble either way, and he might get into much worse by playing into Jim’s game, he’s in deep either way. Deep enough that he’s pretty much fucked.

Which is why he smiles harshly back up at Jim’s face, a sliver of his teeth showing in the vicious tilt of his mouth. His hands move to grip at the sides of Jim’s arse, fingers digging tight through the leather to feel as much as possible, and he licks his lips. Jim has probably said something more, which he missed, but he can’t find it in himself to care about that right now.

The most perfect arse he’s ever seen is currently perched and wiggling teasingly over his half hard cock, and the man he both loathes and wants is playing nice little gay boy. _‘Or whatever it is he calls this particular alias.’_

“‘Course I’m happy to see you, hotstuff.” The nickname is deliberately used to provoke his ire, partially because he’s annoyed at being called ‘baby’ by the other man. “You know I’m always… happier,” he grits his teeth, “When you’re around to sit with me.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever traces of Moriarty the killer that were once on his face have faded seamlessly into that of the needy, clingy man now sitting on Sebastian's lap. His face melts into an absolutely kittenish smile and he seems to purr, his arms tightening around the man’s neck as he nuzzles against his cheek.

It's tempting -- even knowing exactly who's underneath the mask -- to fall to the illusion that Jim presents. Aside from being pliant, he's nothing like any sort of fantasy that Sebastian has had about him -- of him being inside a bedroom or not. But it's still more than enough to make him perfectly desirable. Maybe not as anything more than a one-off shag, but definitely someone he would pursue if they were real.

A man like Moriarty, he would spend the entire time wrestling for control, and no doubt end up losing some even if he were to get exactly what he wanted. A man like  this,  however, he would press up against a wall, fucking into him slow and hard with his teeth in his neck.  _‘Or maybe push him to his knees and feed him my cock...’_

That being said, it still pisses him off to know that the man on his lap is both not real, and not going to last long enough for him to take advantage of it. Right now, he wants Jim more than he can ever remember wanting him. Enough that if he thought he could get away with it, he would strip the man of his trousers within a heartbeat, and take him over the table, with no concern for the reactions of the men sitting around it.

They’d probably have to run out afterwards, once the shock died away, in a haze of bullets. He’d also never be able to play cards with this lot again. He could make a few pointed threats to get back into their good graces, of course, but that doesn’t really matter. He’s not going to fuck Jim over the table, and they’re not going to get kicked out of the game.  _‘Probably.’_

Of course, even if he were to get away with it,  making Jim struggle and squirm in defiance as he took him,  he'd be more or less guaranteeing his death at the end of this. Not like just about everything he does isn't coming close to getting him death, but this definitely would be the kicker. It would also no doubt encourage the man to kill painfully, as opposed to a quick, easy death.

He can't seem to help it, though. Not just the way his cock is twitching in the confines of his clothes, begging for him to do something with it, give it what it wants. But in the way that his heart is thumping in his chest, surely giving him away in more ways than one to the man, and making it difficult for him to concentrate.  _‘What a way to go,’_  he licks his lips, letting himself fall into the fantasy for just a moment.  _‘I would make you scream my name so loud they could hear it clear across London. And then when you finally shot me, no doubt a bullet between the eyes, the only real thought I’d have would be how fucking tight your arse got around me when I whacked you, trying to get you louder. My last words? “you’ll be feeling it for at least a week, boss”.’_

Jim breathes something into his ear, and the fantasy falls away, leaving him with nothing but the reminder that by the time he falls asleep tonight -- if he manages, that is -- he’ll have a serious case of blue balls.

_‘I hate you,’_   he shouts with his eyes, masking the look before Jim and anyone else can notice it. “Now be a good boy,” he pauses, his tongue heavy as he swipes them over his lips, trying to think of the best way to both get his point across and play the game properly. “And try not to give my cards away to anyone, yeah?”

Just for that, he knows Jim might try out some rudimentary hand signals, but it’s worth it in even just the way the eyes of most of the people listening fill with greedy mirth, their lips curling into sneers. He’ll pay for it, but right now, everyone at that table is laughing at Jim.

The only giveaway that Jim noticed what he did, or was even bothered by it is in the way nails dig into the back of his neck for just the shortest second, before pulling away to pet at his skin. “Should I no’ look a’ them?” he asks, eyes widening with fear as he brushes his face back to Sebastian’s, pressing a wet kiss to the spot underneath his ear.

“Look all you want, pretty boy.” Sebastian forces a chuckle, coming out breathier and more choked than he would have liked, his thumb unconsciously stroking along the seam of Jim’s trousers. “Just focus more on being my-” he breaks off with a gasp, grip tightening as Jim sinks his teeth into his neck, just in the right spot that his knees would have gone weak if he’d been standing.  _‘Oh, god,’_ he thinks, _‘I’m going to die.’_

His vision clears after a second, and he avoids the gazes around him, trying not to choke up on how swollen his cock feels, how limp with pleasure the rest of his body is. “-lucky charm,” he finishes, not without difficulty, “instead of thinking too much and hurting that pretty- pretty little head of yours.” Eyes still threatening to roll back into his head, he grits his teeth, almost whimpering when Jim’s teeth don't pull away, instead still scraping along that same spot over and over.

It’s going to be red and sore, and feel so damn good -- a short term reminder of tonight -- and he almost can’t wait to look in the mirror and see the marks of Jim’s teeth on him.

This time, it takes him a moment to realise just how much Jim is playing him, and it makes his chest tighten. There is genuinely nothing he can do to save or protect himself right now, from whatever his boss wants and will do to him. But the worst part? is that he knows, deep down in the back of his head, that whatever does happen, no matter how much he hates it and how violated he’ll feel...he’ll enjoy every second of it.

“Oi, Basher!” the voice pulls him out of his desperate thoughts and he frowns, vision just a bit too hazy for his liking. It’s Conaghey, the guy who sets up these card games, and up until now he’s been utterly silent. But now he’s looking amused, staring questioningly at the place where Jim’s mouth and Sebastian’s skin are connected, and he flicks his used cigarette to the floor pointedly. “We gonna finish playing, or are you out from the rest of this one so you can play with your little boytoy over there?”

Nothing about what he said  sounds  malicious or like he’s plotting Sebastian’s demise, but something about it still makes him automatically wary. He narrows his eyes, moving his hand up to flick -- god help him for this -- at the side of Jim’s face, making him pull away from his work on Sebastian’s neck. His throat throbs deliciously, and he knows that the bruise must be excruciatingly obvious at this point. “My bet, yeah?” he asks, already knowing the answer. He flicks a small handful of chips forward, not even bothering to check his cards first, and grins, his lips spreading to show his teeth like a shark’s.


	3. Chapter 3

How, exactly, Sebastian is supposed to survive the rest of the game, let alone the rest of the evening, is entirely beyond him in every way. He has an absolutely horrible hand _—_   _for which he blames Jim —_  and the only thing that seems to be occupying Jim’s conscious thoughts and actions is the desire to completely and utterly obliterate Sebastian’s self control, his poker face, and his ability to keep it in his pants.  
  
Not to mention just generally wanting to torture him to death with sex that he won’t end up getting.  
  
He still strokes Jim’s side, though, hand moving as if by some force other than his own to trail along underneath the man’s shirt as he plays, doing his best to act like his focus is entirely on the game. It’s not, though, hasn’t been since Jim first walked over to him. He couldn’t care less about who wins or loses. Hell, he’s paid enough on any given day that losing everything he brought tonight would be no great thing for him. He doesn’t  _want_  to lose it, though, and he knows he’ll be punished if he does.  
  
Not even the type of punishment he might enjoy. Especially knowing that unless the boss wants you to enjoy something, it’ll be the exact opposite.  _‘Maybe I should try to pass myself off as entirely asexual and entirely adverse to the idea of ever having sex with anyone…’_  passes though his head, a stray, ridiculous thought that would and could never come to fruition. Like he could ever be believably celibate like that.  
  
The other blokes at the table all do an admirable job of making it seem like they’re entirely unaware or unconcerned with the company they have, never casting Jim more than a half glance as their eyes pass of Sebastian while they play. They don’t know who he is in the slightest,  _clearly,_  and even if they did you’d be hard pressed to make them believe it. Believe that the most dangerous, most well known on the streets and sometimes off criminal in London today, with more power and money and guns at his beck and call than any before him…was currently clad only in leather, purring while sitting on the lap of a sniper dishonourably discharged from the military, in the middle of a poker game?  
  
You’d find it easier to talk them into thinking that the Her Majesty herself was planning to drop in later for a round of cards and gin.  
  
Hell, Sebastian would be the first one to tout that story if it got him out of the current situation, without so many eyes surrounding. He tries, however, not to dwell too hard on why he’s being punished in this way — and it has to be a punishment, even if it’s disguised as a reward, because even a man as daft as his boss couldn’t possibly mistake something like this as a pleasant surprise — because he knows that it could be anything from not properly cleaning the coffee grinder to not completing a job properly. His lustful thoughts are just an excuse,  _probably just an excuse_  to make it go further.  
  
He plays the hand as best he can, resigning himself further and further to the knowledge that this night will be burnt into his mind for the remainder of his rather short life, and manages to get himself out of the next.  
  
“Sorry, mates,” he winks, throwing his hand down on the table once they’re done, shifting to encourage Jim to unwind himself from his body and get up. “But you know…things to do and all.” It’s not like they don’t already think he’s running off to have disgusting sex with a cheap, leathered out hooker, and the truth is infinitely less believable.  
  
It takes several tries to get Jim to stand, with him doing his best to keep clinging obnoxiously to Sebastian’s neck, but he finally does; only to find, of course, that Jim won’t give up without a fight. The way that he quite literally wraps his body around Sebastian’s now, sliding until his legs are around the man’s back, arms hooked to hold himself up is actually almost unbelievable. Almost, as in only believable because it’s Jim of all people. No one else would get away with it.  
  
He grits out a smile, licking his lips as he repositions Jim lightly, just enough to cover the tenting of his trousers — which turns out to be not the wisest of decisions. Purring in his ear, the man snaps his teeth, “Happy to see me, pet?” he asks, practically growling the endearment, wiggling his hips to rub the inside of his thigh along the hardness.  
  
“Of course, boss,” he gasps, gritting his teeth when the sudden pressure threatens his ability to keep himself balanced and upright. “M ha _-happy.”_  
  
Taking a rushed step forward, he tries not to look at anything but the exit. All eyes are on him, however, and he’d know that even if he were blind. The room remains dead silent as he makes his slow trek across, weaving awkwardly around the occasional table or person standing in his way, the only sound the occasional noise of ice shifting around in a cup as someone takes a quiet drink.  
  
He sends everyone in there a silent fuck you as he tries very hard to open the door without falling over or worse, allowing Jim to drop from his grip, hearing a few chuckles at his expense once he’s moved through.  
  
The bitter chill hits his face, sending a flash of relief down his body. As long as he doesn’t have to carry Jim the entire way home, he should be all right. He might even manage to have calmed down enough to not look like a teenager by the time they make it back to the flat. “C’mon, where’s your car?” he shuffles carefully down the steps, fingers digging harder into Jim’s backside to hinder him bouncing up and down quite as much.  
  
It’s stopped drizzling, but the air is still wet, making the ground threaten to slip out from under his feet. An answer doesn’t come, only the feeling of Jim burrowing impossibly closer against his coat as he stares up at the sky, trying to determine if it’s going to start raining before he has time to locate the car.  
  
Something is mumbled in his ear, but he misses it as it’s replaced by the sudden sound of something metal suddenly crashing up against a wall. It makes another noise as it clatters to the ground, and Sebastian frowns, torn between assuming that it’s just something the wind picked up, and wondering what Jim is trying to say. It’s unlike the man to not be properly articulate at all times, and it’s disconcerting the way he’s suddenly becoming more like the docile creature of his own making from earlier.  
  
“You all right?” he grumbles, his breathing already coming easier now that the cold’s begun to act as a deterrent to his arousal. Jim jerks in his arms, one of his nails catching on the skin along his jugular, making him wince slightly.  
  
The chill is a sharp contrast to the heat Jim’s body exudes, both of which seem to be in a committed battle of seeping into his skin. If the man weren’t already as close pressed to his body as he possibly could be, he’d consider hugging him closer to steal some of his obviously excess heat. If his employer can actually manage to be this warm when it’s this weather, he can’t for the life of him imagine how the man survives wearing so many layers of suit when the temperature is warmer, but for now he takes it as a blessing. His own coat is an old one, nearing the end of its lifespan, and more of a personal preference than anything. Regardless, he’s been needing to replace it for a while, and this just serves as the reminder of that.  
  
“Come on,” he grunts, freeing his hand for a moment so he can bring it back down sharply on Jim’s rump, making the man jerk and gasp. “Gerroff and tell me where you left the driver,” he says, making it more of a demand than anything else, a faint flush filling his cheeks at having actually just smacked his boss’ arse. It hadn’t been exactly in his plans, and he braces himself for some type of retaliatory attack.  
  
The moan that fills his ear is definitely not something he’d been expecting, and his eyes widen theatrically in shock. Jim wiggles again, pushing back against the hand that hasn’t left his arse, as if asked for another smack. The only thing that stops Sebastian from doing it again upon reflex is the way he can feel the curve of a smirk on his neck, and he knows that he’s being played with some more.  
  
Gritting his teeth, he sighs, his intention now to pretend that he definitely did not just do that.  
  
“Car,” he forces out the word, taking another step towards the street. It’s empty, and he frowns. There isn’t a single person in sight. “Where the fuck did you leave the car, Jim?”  
  
“Sent it away,” he finally admits, a quiet, soft murmur in Sebastian’s ear. “Figured we could walk a ways and rent out a room.”  
  
The words stop him short, body frozen in shock, ears ringing as he tries to decipher the hidden meaning behind them.  
  
 _‘Walk…room…rent…what?’_  
  
A shiver runs down his spine and he swallows hard, the weight of Jim’s body suddenly magnified exponentially. Despite his better judgment, his body jumps to the obvious conclusions, given away by the sudden, valiant attempt of his twitching cock, trying to get hard at the idea that Jim  _wants to have a private room with him._  
  
“We-we’re not that far across - across the city from-” he stutters out, internally cursing his voice for cracking now of all the times in the world. “-from the flat.” As easy as it would be, he really, really doesn’t want to make the stupid assumption that Jim wants that from him. That his boss wants to… _’to be fucked by me. Or fuck me, really, it could go either way,’_  his mind inconveniently reminds him, making him shift again.  
  
“I know,” Jim purrs again, pressing an extremely wet, cold kiss to his ear. “Did I say it was because I didn’t want to take the time to go back?”  
  
The shiver of lust that crawls across his body at the sound of Jim’s voice is powerful, making his hearing dim, like someone’s placed a giant box over him to deafen everything around him, the cold air suddenly noticeable. The want for Jim that he’d felt not a half hour earlier during the game is back, and despite everything, it’s nearing its way to full force again.  
  
“How-” he swallows, licking his lips carefully, “how far’s the room?”  
  
“Good boy,” is the crooned reply, accompanied by a sharp nip to  his jaw, a reward for his decision, no doubt. “Go right, two blocks down. Sign is red and with ‘Moulin’ written in black.”  
  
It’s the last thing Jim says before burying his face back in Sebastian’s neck with what could easily be mistaken for a hungered groan, his teeth sinking into a soft spot.  
  
Sebastian’s jaw drops open of its own accord, his head feeling light and airy, and he can almost swear he hears fucking birds chirping around his head for a moment there.  
  
He tries to jerk his head away after a moment, unsuccessfully attempting to drag his concentration back to a better place so he can put one foot in front of the other, but only manages to drag a whimper from Jim’s throat. Grumbling, he pushes his mind to focus on the cold that’s starting to dig into his ears and fingers, letting it pull him forward and in the direction Jim had mentioned.   
  
The walk to the building with the sign manages to be some of the best and worst ten minutes of his life, with Jim more or less dry humping him by the time they actually get there. It’s excruciating, awkward, and so thoroughly distracting that he’s surprised he can actually remember how to turn the knob on the door to get inside once they do arrive.  
  
The man at the counter doesn’t spare them a glance up, shoving a key across the wood before they’re anywhere near it, his eyes glued to his book, for which Sebastian is oh so fucking thankful. If the man had so much as  _glanced up,_  with the mood he’s in right now, he’d have made plans to return the next way to shoot him.  
  
Grunting in half-arsed appreciation, he snatches the key, making his way down the hall to find the right room. The place smells of moths, and the corridor is quiet and dark, no noise coming from any of the clearly abandoned rooms.  
  
It’s easy to ignore how alone they are, only really registering that Jim has clearly chosen the place for location instead of comfort, as he pushes the door open with his shoulder once the key is in the lock. Why the key is necessary he doesn’t quite know, but he tosses it on a stray piece of furniture, kicking the door shut as he stumbles into the room.  
  
His surroundings don’t particularly penetrate his brain, only the bed mattering as he finally drops the man on the edge of it.  
  
They’re not going to use it, at least not the entire time, but it’s almost good to let go of the excess weight, even though now his body feels like it’s missing something vital without Jim clawing at him.  
  
Once Jim’s off him — not without a fight — he takes a step back, his eyes wide, dilated in his desire, taking in almost crazed breaths of air. Jim pouts, whining in his throat again at being abandoned like that, but almost as if he’s been cued by Sebastian, he begins picking at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head so he can discard it on the floor.  
  
His chest is incredibly pale, noticeable even in the excruciatingly bad lighting, and though he’s scrawny, it’s obvious that he’s got an impressive amount of muscle on him. He arches, slow and deliberate, trying to entice Sebastian back to him as he draws his lip between his teeth and moves one hand to his own prominent bulge.  
  
Playing with the leather without really pressing down, he lowers his gaze, hair falling over his forehead and almost covering his eyes as he attempts an innocent look. It works, just barely, and only really because it’s him and he could dress up like a princess and still convince people that he’s exactly that.  
  
While the visualisation of Jim in a dress is an incredibly tempting thing, he forces the thought to the side, moving shaky hands to the buttons of his own shirt. He follows more or less in tandem with the pace Jim is setting, wanting to move quicker while at the same time fearing what might happen should he push too far too fast and lose this sudden privilege — something he doesn’t think he can survive at this point.  
  
Eyes narrowing for a moment, Jim almost frowns, his eyes fixed on Sebastian as he stares deep into them, looking attentively for something.  
  
“You are-” Sebastian stops himself before he can finish, swallowing down the words from the tip of his tongue, not wanting to be threatened by them. He smiles weakly, coughing to hide his embarrassment. He pushes his coat and shirt off his shoulders in one go, almost shivering now in the room. “Go on, then,” he gestures at the Jim’s flies, making it clear he expects the man to shed them himself.  
  
Goosebumps rise to his arms when the man actually does, not even hesitating for a second as he obeys the order. Once he’s slid them off, dropping them casually on the floor, Jim looks back up at Sebastian through his eyelashes, his eyes demure and waiting for the next order. It makes Sebastian gulp, not mistaking for a second that though he’s technically in control at the moment, that the man before him still has complete and utter mastery over him. It makes him almost angry, but not quite, the eagerness that fills him overpowering that.  
  
“On the floor,” he orders gruffly, coming close to snapping his fingers, but stopping himself in time.   
  
Jim jerks to attention, sliding to his knees comfortably, as if he was born to be on them in dark rooms, and for a moment — just a moment — Sebastian entertains that fantasy.  
  
He can pretend that Jim works here, that he’s being paid to do this, paid to fall to the floor and crawl towards Sebastian, hands behind his back as he stares up and waits for the next order. Even without trying, Jim works his way perfectly into it, biting his lip again once he’s stopped moving.  
  
Voice coming out husky when he speaks again, Sebastian moves his hand to the man’s head, stroking his fingers through his hair and then jerking it forward, pressing Jim’s face to his crotch. Even through his trousers Jim’s mouth feels amazing, and he hisses, bucking up lightly against it. “Open them,” he demands, still moving Jim’s head encouragingly. The man’s fingers scramble at his flies, pulling them down the moment he can to bring Sebastian’s cock out. He lets out a low, eager moan when he sees it, the end twitching and red.  
  
“I want you to-” he doesn’t even have to finish speaking before Jim’s mouth is on him, wet and almost desperate as he kisses along the shaft, wetting it before moving back to cover the head with his lips. Jim’s mouth is startlingly warm in contrast to the cold, making him jerk and twitch back a cry of surprise.  
  
Smiling innocently around his cock, Jim presses forward with a deliberate slowness, making certain that Sebastian is paying him all his attention as he takes his cock further down, until it hits the back of his throat, pressing his nose against the skin of the his stomach. His chin is scratched by the zipper, but he doesn’t care, his eyes watering ever so lightly, showing how hard he’s fighting back his gag reflex as he first relaxes and then contracts the muscles.  
  
The cry escapes Sebastian’s lips now, louder than it would have been before, his eyes going almost bugged out as he tries to process the sight of his cock so incredibly deep down Jim’s throat.  
  
It’s like nothing he’s ever seen or felt before, the dual sensation of seeing it and feeling it enough to make him feel like he’s on a heady dose of drugs, his head feeling heavy and an unnecessary weight on the top of his head.  _“God, Jim,”_  he groans, his hands moving of their own accord to roughly stroke through the man’s hair, jerking his head to bring him further onto Sebastian’s cock — which his hardly possible.  
  
This sensation is like having every fantasy of Jim come to life all at once, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s really all just a dream, that he’s lying asleep on a bed somewhere humping his sheets thinking that it’s his boss’ cock.  
  
The thought is hideous, but he decides that even if it’s true, he’ll enjoy the hell out of this dream. With that in my mind, he grins a bit viciously, gripping the sides of Jim’s head to pull him off until just the end is left in his mouth. By this point Jim is gasping for air, his eyes completely dilated, his neck limp to whatever the man above him wants to do with him. Counting only to five in his head, Sebastian barks out a laugh, thrusting forward as he brings Jim’s head back down again, impaling his throat without mercy.  
  
Jim does gag this time, choking on the force and pressure of it, but he doesn’t try to pull away; instead his eyes begin to roll back into his head, hands moving up to clutch at Sebastian’s hips. He seems to genuinely be enjoying this, which makes Sebastian grind his teeth, pleased at this knowledge. It figures that Jim would turn out to be the type that enjoys having his face fucked, he decides as he repeats the action, giving Jim less and less time in between each thrust  
  
When the man finally decides he’s had enough, which looks more like he’s ready to move on than just stop entirely, he tries to pull away, glaring up at Sebastian when his head isn’t released from the grip. He contracts his throat several times, waiting until Sebastian’s hands loosen reflexively, taking advantage of the weakness in his defenses to pull away, coughing as he collapses backwards to gasp for air. He’d been breathing through his nose as much as he could, but at that pace he’d still only been left with limited air.  
  
Growling at Jim doing that to him, Sebastian can’t help but feel a little bit tiffed, glaring back as he takes the time to admires the length of the man’s entirely naked body now. The man is beautiful, a small layer of sweat making his body glisten in the faint light from outside, looking ethereal. He breaks the illusion when he coughs again, pointedly, and Sebastian shrugs, smirking as he brushes away the thought.  
  
“Up ‘gainst the wall,” he says, sounding more like he’s been running for miles than anything. Moving forward with Jim, he shoves the man the rest of the way to the wall, turning him to claim his mouth in a feverish kiss. It’s their first, their lips colliding in a way that feels both entirely average and suddenly too much. He gasps against Jim’s lips, trying to breath as he covers the man’s face with his hands, holding him close, careful not to rock against his body while he licks into his mouth, sucking roughly on his tongue.


End file.
